


нарциссы ("Daffodils")

by poTAYto416



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: F/F, insomniac brain really went off with the detail huh, this may become a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26333503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poTAYto416/pseuds/poTAYto416
Summary: so i was literally just searching for fic ideas on some website and i came across one that said something about the characters on a train ride or something, and it was like,,,, three or four am??? and i really popped off on detail odisgir. gonna try and make myself make this a series if it gets enough positive feedback?? we'll see how it goes????
Relationships: Barb Lavernor/Tatiana Slozhno, TatiBarb, barbiana
Kudos: 7





	нарциссы ("Daffodils")

A brown Mary Jane tapped impatiently against the expansive stone floors of the train station. If there was ever one thing Barb Larvernor was not in her lifetime, not even once, it was late, so why did that excuse the train to be? She pulled her wrist up close to her face, tugging the sleeve of her baggy sweater down to peer at the face of her thin watch: three minutes after eleven in the afternoon. She supposed, any other time, that she would not be so impatient, but today was different; she was going to take the five-day train ride across the country from Rhode Island, where she lived currently, to Wyoming, where her family was, for the string of birthdays that would take place in a week; her own, her two cousins, her brother, and her mom. She often enjoyed heading home this time of year, as mid-May offered her the most beautiful sights along her ride.

She’d just fixed her glasses up on her nose and moved to check her watch again when the ground began to rumble beneath her. A glance up confirmed her suspicions as the lights on her side of the track began to flash like mad; the train was arriving. She gave a gentle hello to the attendant who helped her with her bags (she knew him by name, Murray Sanders) and muscle memory took over as she moved to a seat four rows back in the observation car, next to the window. She pulled her book from her small messenger bag she had strung across her front and took up her natural position with it as if she’d never left; curled up almost completely, shoulder flush against the window, nose deep in the pages. She’d put it down in an hour, she told herself, as she always did on these rides.

Barb was a people watcher. It fascinated her to know that the beings that passed just outside her window had lives and feelings and working bodies of their own. She liked to play a game on these trips of thinking up fascinating tales about who was going where, and this is what she was doing when she caught a glimpse of bright red in the reflection of the window. Barb turned to try and discern where the flash of color had come from. Standing a row or so ahead of Barb was the most beautiful woman that she had ever seen. A soft brown trench coat hung just at her ankles. which were slightly exposed between the chunky black boots and black pants the woman wore. Her hair, Barb realized, was what she had noticed. It was pulled back into a neat, high ponytail with a gentle bump in the front. Her features were slightly hidden, between the collar of the coat and a pair of dark sunglasses that contrasted her pale skin.

Barb blinked and came to the sudden realization that she was staring. She snapped her mouth shut once more, clearing her throat gently before turning back to face the window, but not before noticing that the mystery woman had taken temporary homing in one of the seats in the row parallel to her own.

It would be several hours and a few stops later before Barb would pull her gaze away from the window to instead take in all of the people that filled the car. There weren’t too many; a man, a woman, and their two children who appeared to be on vacation, as noted by the children’s constant buzzing about some farm they were visiting, a man in a business suit in the row adjacent to her, who was nose-deep in several files, two women three rows behind her, gabbing with talk and hope of a better life, and her. The mystery woman. She had taken her trench coat off, and it lay beside her in the seat. Her sunglasses remained, and Barb wasn’t sure whether or not she liked them; they added to the mystery, sure, but she wanted to get a proper look at her face. She abandoned her hope, remembering that this woman was a stranger, and her gaze instead moved to the rest of the woman’s appearance.

The absence of the trench coat revealed a deep navy colored sweater, not quite as large as Barb’s. Barb always bought her sweaters larger, for the comfort of them, and it was clear that she and this mystery woman did not share the same beliefs. The sweater fit her nicely, didn’t hang awkwardly or cling to her too tightly. It was perfect. A movement from just to the right of the mystery woman pulled Barb’s gaze in that direction. In the woman’s hand was a pencil, and in her lap rested a sketch book. She was hard at work, and what part of her brow that was exposed over the sunglasses was furrowed one deep concentration. She lay the pencil flat for a bit to focus on the shading, and Barb craned her neck in an attempt to get a good look at the page that lay under her hand.

“Excuse me?” Came a voice, pulling Barb from her persistent interest in the page. It was lower than expected, but definitely belonged to a woman. What threw her off guard more, however, was perhaps the thick Russian accent that accompanied it. “I do not mean to cause a fuss, but if you are that interested in what I am drawing, then perhaps you could, how you say, _ask me_ what it is that I am drawing.”

Barb’s cheeks heated in embarrassment, and a part of her wondered if it complimented the mystery woman’s hair. Nothing, she decided, could ever compare to the bright red hair that framed her face. “I-“ She stammered. “I am so sorry, I- I didn’t mean to stare, I-“ 

A smile crept up on the mystery woman’s face, giving way to a row of perfectly straight, sparkling white teeth. “I did not say that I am bothered by your intrigue, _dorogoy_ , I said that if you had intrigue that you should ask.” She moved the sketch pad over to rest on her left leg and retrieved her coat before patting the seat beside her. “ _Idi, syad_." 

Without a moment’s hesitation, perhaps too eagerly for her liking in hindsight, Barb scooped up her belongings and moved across the way to sit beside her. Immediately, she was taken aback by her aura, how powerful and confident she seemed, and not in the overly pompous sort of way. It was in that moment that Barb realized that perhaps she could find kinship with this woman, if she could find it within her to form a fully comprehensive sentence. When she was seated beside her, Barb once more peered over at the sketch pad the woman was now moving back to its original position; from here she could see the near flawless sketch and beautiful detailing of a few flowers. A daisy sat in the top right, small, and an orchid resided beside it. The most breathtaking element of the page, however, was the rather large daffodil that took up most of the page. Before she could stop herself, Barb let out a soft exhale of surprise. “Oh _my_ , this is _amazing_! How long have you been drawing, if you don’t mind my asking?" 

The woman offered her a shrug, her once playful smile now growing shyer. “A few years, I would say, is when it began to take off as a hobby.” She flipped her sketchbook back to the front before handing it over to Barb, who gleefully turned through the pages, curious of its contents. There was, on one page, a small black cat with a bell on its collar. A feather hung in the air, the drawn folds of it conveying its effortless floating. The next page revealed a small cottage with a few trees in the back, and a gentle puff of smoke peeking out of the chimney at the top. This one was colored in, and Barb took note of each of the colors in the grass signifying wildflowers. She took in each of the pages, eyes wide in wonder. “I am traveling to California for an opening at a, how you say, _renowned_ art school, I suppose it were.” She glanced away, averting her gaze. “Forgive me, I do not mean to sound entitled. It is simply my dream to share my creations with as many people as possible.”

“Well, you should be _incredibly_ proud of your talent! Not everyone possesses a gift like this, and I’m sure that any school, especially a famous art school, would be more than happy to have you!” Barb boasted, then quickly cooled down a bit. “I’m so sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself, have I? Please, forgive me. I’m Barb.” She extended a hand to the woman, and she realized in that moment just how badly her hands were shaking.

Still, the woman returned a bright smile, pulling off her sunglasses off before giving Barb’s hand a gentle, yet surprisingly firm, shake. “I am Tatiana. It is a pleasure.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine!” Barb said, holding mg onto Tatiana’s hand perhaps just a bit too long. She quickly pulled it away at this realization, folding it in her lap. “I, er- I like your accent, is that Russian I detect?"

“You are correct.” Tatiana grinned brightly. “You are quite the clever one, Barb.”

The blood rose to Barb’s cheeks, but she tried desperately not to think about it. If she didn’t think about it, it didn’t happen, right? “Thank you. It helps to be proficient in accent detection in the field that I want to go into.

“And what field would that be? You do not have to answer.”

“No, it’s alright! I, uh- I want to go into sort of a, uh- criminal justice field, I suppose it could be called?”

“You suppose?”

“Yeah, I-“ She toyed with the corner of the sketchbook she still held in her lap. “I, uh- put in for the- the, uh-“ She leaned in, perhaps a bit too close, but Tatiana didn’t pull back in retaliation, and Barb noted that she smelled like mint and cherry, a delightul combination that she could get used to. “- _the American Secret Service_

Tatiana’s brow inched up her face, a mischevous smile turning up the corners of her dark painted lips. “Oh, I see.” She leaned in closer to Barb in intrigue, so much so that Barb could feel Tatiana’s warm breath against her cheeks. “A, how you say, _spy_ , hmm?”

“Of sorts,” Barb gave a soft laugh. “I want to work behind the scenes, see how things work and how people tic, then find ways to alter and improve them.” Red hair fell gently across Tatiana’s face as she tilted her head ever so slightly, and Barb felt her confidence waning more and more by the moment. “A… scientist?"

The grin on Tatiana’s face only stretched wider, the delight showing in her eyes, and they seemed to glow brighter, more electric in their blue hue. “Why does that not come as a surprise to me?” An objection started to fall from Barb’s lips, but Tatiana cut her off. “Forgive me, I did not mean that with ill intention. You have a certain, how you say- _aura_ about you, Barb, a brilliant mind hiding underneath the surface of a flustered exterior.” She shot a wink her way, and Barb cleared her throat, suddenly very interested in the cover of Tatiana’s sketch book she still held in her grasp, a deep, dark leather bound together carefully by meticulous stitching. “It is a mind that I believe I would like to attempt to understand a bit more, if that is not being too, how you say, _forward_?” 

Barb shook her head quickly, and they spent the next few hours or so getting to know each other, each listening to the other’s every word with growing intent.

It would be the start of a beautiful friendship.


End file.
